


A Second Attempt at Porn

by Starship_Captain_88



Series: Attempts at Writing Porn [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Ballroom Dancing, Blow Jobs, Chocolate, Coffee, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fellatio, Flappers, Food Sex, Jazz Age, Sex and Chocolate, Spanking, Tea-dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:46:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26402896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starship_Captain_88/pseuds/Starship_Captain_88
Summary: In the first story in this series, French businessman Roger Durand met a mysterious girl named Olympe in a bar. She propositioned him and they went to the Hotel Rialto for a night of hot sex involving oysters. The next morning, Olympe was gone, leaving her calling card for Roger to contact her if he wanted.A few days later Roger is not sure if he should call her, but in the end he does. They plan an evening of dinner, dancing and hot sex with chocolate back at Roger's apartment.In chapter two they end their dancing with a very sensual Tango, which sets their spirits alight for sex.
Series: Attempts at Writing Porn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926268
Kudos: 2





	1. An Old-fashioned Audio Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> French businessman Roger Durand had a one-night stand with a mysterious girl called Olympe. He's wondering if he ought to contact her again, as she was such a wild handful.
> 
> The sex was so hot that he knows he needs to see her again. He decides to invite her to a tea-dance, followed by coffee at his place.

Roger was looking at a business card on his desk. It was the one Olympe had left for him in their Hotel Rialto bedroom, together with an empty oyster shell and a long dangly, gold earring. These other objects sat beside it.

The card carried no information except the capital letters PIA and a QR code, but it was expensively printed, and this itself was a kind of information. It told him the card was serious, not a flimflam. Olympe was either real, or a very well prepared con artist. He couldn’t think of any reason why she would want to con him, or why the grift would start with a chance meeting in a bar, followed by some of the hottest sex he had ever enjoyed.

He hesitated, considering if it was a good idea to scan the code. She had been such a wild handful during their torrid night together, that he thought she might push him beyond his boundaries. But she had been a fun and affectionate lover too, good to talk with. In the end, he knew he really wanted to contact her. Their one-night affair had been so enjoyable on several levels, that he needed to see her for a second round, even if it ended there.

He waited a couple of days, then scanned the code, which opened a number of contact options on his smartphone. Wanting to hear her cut-glass English accent, he made an old-fashioned audio call. A female voice answered.

“Hello, Mr Durand, how nice to hear from you. How are you?”

“Is that you, Olympe?” Of course it was. Her intonation was unmistakable. “It’s Roger here. I’m fine. How did you know my name?”

“It’s my job to know things.” She hadn’t told him her profession. She was a detective. She had taken one of his business cards while he was asleep. To be fair, it was an exchange for the one she left him.

She continued to be an intriguing mystery. “I was wondering if you would like to meet for some fun…” His upspeak at the end of the sentence made it a gentle question.

“What sort of fun? If you want to do something intimate it needs to be in the next 10 days. After that I can’t do anything for a while.”

“Are you going away?”

“No, but my apps are telling me it will probably be Shark Week.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.” Roger was not familiar with this piece of modern slang.

“It means I will be having my period, since I am fairly regular. A lot of boys don’t like the idea of sex with a menstruating woman.”

“I see.” He paused. “Actually I’m fine with it if you are.”

Olympe was surprised to hear this. In her experience, some men acted like she was leaking Novichok rather than just a bit of blood and so on, while others thought it meant guaranteed oral for them and nothing for her. 

“Well, thank you, Roger. That means we have options. So, to return to the main point, do you have any ideas?” 

She had various things in mind already. Dinner, dancing, and a night of sex at his flat would be fun. For something more adventurous, she was considering taking Roger up the river, landing on one of the small islands with a picnic, and challenging him to open air sex. Olympe had a minor kink for sex in places where she might be accidentally discovered. It was unlikely on a river island, actually, but sex outdoors was a whole different experience anyway. You got in touch with nature in the raw. However she wanted to hear Roger’s ideas first.

“I would like to take you dancing,” he replied. “There is a tea-dance in the Dream Disco next Saturday. Do you ballroom dance? If not, we could go to a club.”

“Do I ballroom dance? It’s the best. I love it! I should be delighted to come.”

“Excellent. I’ll get some tickets. We can eat at the dance if the food is good enough.” He had some doubt about that, a finger buffet was not his idea of a sensual treat for a lover. “Or we’ll go to dinner afterwards if it isn’t. Then back to mine.”

“For coffee?” she asked, in a purring voice. It was of course an old euphemism for going home with someone to have sex.

“And chocolates,” he replied.

This remark conjured the image in both their minds of how they had used the oysters in their room at the Rialto hotel. There was silence for a few seconds as they wondered separately what fun they could have with chocolates. It depended on the type of chocolate and what you did with it. 

Olympe thought it might be super-sexy to let chocolates melt inside her, for Roger to lick out, but it might not be healthy. The oysters had been fine because Roger sucked them out immediately, and they only left a bit of brine behind, which was drowned by her own juices anyway. Maybe he could spread Nutella on her pussy and lick it off, that sounded quite good fun. She decided to Google it before she agreed to anything. Then her mind turned to fashion.

“Well. What should I wear?” she asked. “I was quite butch when we met in Nanashi. I want to be very girly this time.” Olympe was bi-sexual, though she hadn’t told him yet. She had a switch kind of personality, and enjoyed flexing her sexual personas, as keen to enjoy women as men.

Roger thought about it. He intended to wear a lounge suit, which hadn’t radically changed in mens’ fashion for 100 years. Apart from the basic choice of single or double breasted, the variations were all around details such as the number of vents and buttons, the width of the lapels, the colour of the lining. You had to be an expert to really keep up with the changing looks.

“How about a flapper dress from the Jazz Age,” he suggested. “That would suit your physique, and a tea-dance is typical of that era.” 

Flapper dresses were often remarkably daring, showing a lot more skin that you would expect for the 1920s, and they suited a boyish girl’s figure, like the athletic Olympe. He imagined her in a square cut, off the shoulder number, with fringes which would fan out as she twirled in the dance. It was a good mental picture.

“Yes, what a good idea!” Olympe was now Googling flapper dresses on her laptop. “I don’t have anything like that in my wardrobe. It will be great fun to shop for the right one. I can get a fascinator or something, and a feather boa to complete the look. The question is how long should the skirt be, and will I have a scoop back?”

Olympe was happy to go braless unless a lot of action was involved, since she had a svelte bustline, but dancing would involve a fair bit of movement. She mused about backless bras, which sort of glued to your body. They were fun for boys to remove, a new experience compared to fumbling with catches in the normal way. The garment could be peeled off slowly and sexily. 

Roger thought a flapper dress would be a great costume. He decided to wear a cravat, perhaps a jaunty boater hat, if he could find one which fitted well, and correspondent shoes. They would be the perfect Roaring 20s couple.

Olympe thought a scoop back might be too much. She had good shoulders and legs. Use them, and hint at her back and breasts. A bit of mystery was a good thing in a girl’s look. The concealed parts excited a boy’s imagination more than lots of bare skin. She decided to go to her favourite department store, Isetan, and look at off the shoulder dresses with short skirts. She was very proud of her _*thank Goddess*_ so-far cellulite free thighs. She worked hard to maintain them, and the muscle tone needed for her rowing and kung fu. Dancing was a great way to show her legs off, it counted as exercise, and so easily pointed towards sexual intercourse that the Puritans had banned it.

Several hard shopping hours later, Olympe came home with a rather super little black number. It hung from her shoulders on spaghetti straps and was square cut over the bustline. The skirt ended at mid-thigh, with a light fringe below. The fabric was shaped to her body close enough to show she was a girl, and loose enough for dancing. She completed the outfit with a black feather fascinator for her hair, an outrageous fluffy red boa, and long black gloves. Since Olympe didn’t shave her legs, she chose not to wear any stockings, but she challenged herself with three-inch heel strappy dancing sandals.

“I had better practice with these,” she thought. Olympe rarely wore a heel higher than two inches. She was a tall girl already, at five feet nine inches. Alone in her flat she worked through the steps of some ballroom standards, until she was pretty confident of her heels. “If I fall, it’s up to Roger to save me, and that will be a test of his mettle. Maybe I will fall accidentally on purpose, actually.”

The day of their date arrived. Olympe made up her face and dressed carefully; black lace Brazilian panties, a stick-on bra, black silk slip and her new flapper outfit, which hinted at her torso and revealed her shoulders and legs. She wore her most sensual perfume, Chanel No.5. She put some essential girl stuff into a light black purse with a silver strap, and summoned a taxicab.


	2. Dancing and Fucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Olympe have mixed fun dancing when she trips during their first dance. However they get used to each other and their final dance is a steaming hot Tango, which inflames both their passions.
> 
> They take a cab to Roger's flat, where they begin to undress each other. Roger falls onto the sofa with Olympe on top of him, and she begins to ride him while they are still mostly dressed.

Roger was first to their rendezvous. He had to wait only a few minutes before a cab drew up, and Olympe stepped elegantly from the passenger cabin. She stood six feet tall in her heels, and could look him directly in the eye. She smiled a pretty smile as she checked out his suit, cravat, and jaunty boater hat.

“Roger, you so look the part! I feel as though I’m in a Hollywood musical.” She extended her hands to take both of his, and lent in for a kiss on the cheek. It was oddly demure, considering the various places they had kissed each other the last time they met. He kissed her back, then held her at arms length to examine her flapper costume carefully.

“You look superb, Olympe! Such a lovely dress, and the boa… It’s wonderful. If I can dance half as well as you look, we’ll burn up the floor.” He gave her an arm to lead her inside the venue.

They quickly occupied a table opposite the entrance, in order to scan all the new arrivals. The bar was open, and Roger brought glasses of white wine spritzer. Both of them wanted to enjoy dancing first, rather than drink. They began to talk about their favourite dances, to find the best matches between them. They soon found their three top dances were Tango, Swing and Quickstep. They both felt confident of the Rumba. Roger was excellent at Cha Cha but it was one of Olympe’s weakest dances.

“We can try it, and if you lead me well, perhaps it will be okay,” she told him. “Not to put any pressure on you…” Olympe smiled a naughty grin. She knew how to challenge a boy from a supposedly submissive girl position.

“Well, let’s dance anything that comes up and see how we get on,” suggested Roger. “Except the Foxtrot.” He was particularly weak on the steps.

Olympe agreed. She also was weak at Foxtrot. “Let’s save the Tango and make it our last dance.” She thought the sexuality of that dance would get them in the right mood for the rest of the night.

They sipped their spritzers and waited for the dancing to begin.

The first dance was a Quickstep. Roger led Olympe out and got her into hold. They started confidently, but the rapid running steps went wrong. Olympe stumbled, and almost fell. Fortunately, Roger was quick and strong enough to stop her going down. She thanked him, but she wanted to leave the dance, feeling embarrassed and ashamed at her mistake. He led her back to their table and brought her a fresh glass of spritzer.

“I’m so sorry, Roger. It’s these heels. I haven’t practiced dancing in them with a partner. Thank you so much for saving me.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Would you like to rest for a while?” 

“No! If you fall off a horse you must mount it again and ride on straight away, so you don’t have time to be afraid. In fact, I’ll attempt another Quickstep when one is announced. I feel safe in your arms, knowing you can protect me if things go wrong.”

That remark gave Roger a warm feeling, and he smiled. A Rumba was announced. Since they were both pretty good at the dance, they went on to the floor eagerly, and nailed it. Olympe’s confidence returned fully. Her hip action was fluid and sexy, shaking the fringe of her skirt in rhythm with the music. They stayed on the floor when a Lindy Hop was announced, but it was not a success. Roger couldn’t handle the solo parts. He danced better with Olympe in hold. She didn’t mind. 

“We haven’t practised at all. Let’s sit the next one out and have a drink.” She went to the bar and brought back red wine for both of them. “It’s probably plonk,” she said. They took cautious sips, It was in fact very good, a reliable Australian blend.

The dancing went on. They tried another Quickstep and it went well. Olympe was pleased. They both danced with other partners during gentlemen’s and ladies’ excuse me. Eventually they began to get tired, and hoped for a Tango to finish with. They sat out until one was announced, picking at a plateful of items from the finger buffet.

Eventually there was a Tango, and it went superbly. Roger, inspired by Olympe’s sexual allure, was masterful. He held her in close hold, their pelvises in tight contact. and led her through the dramatic steps with snap and vim. She responded with verve and style, her fascinator and tassels whipping at the air during her fast moves. They left the floor feeling energised, highly charged with adrenaline, and wanted now only to get away to Roger’s flat, to begin their love-making. They grabbed their stuff, rushed out and tumbled into a cab.

Sitting in the back of the taxi, Olympe desired strongly to kiss Roger and feel his hands on her again, in more intimate places than during their dance moves. She wanted his hands on her neck and waist, moving slowly to her hips, to pull her in for a deep kiss. But the wide seat, and the safety belts, kept them at arm’s length. She could only reach out and grip his hand, squeezing and releasing his fingers, and breath deeply, to indicate her desire.

They reached the apartment building which contained Roger’s flat and tumbled out. He paid the cabbie quickly, then grabbed Olympe’s hand and they ran laughing to the door and went in.

Roger’s flat was a moderately luxurious 2LDK, with some well chosen plain and manly decorations,. Olympe looked around as she put down her handbag and boa. She approved with a nod, but she had come here for other purposes than to admire interior design. She grabbed Roger while he was still unbuttoning his jacket, and drew him close for a kiss. She grabbed his butt with one hand and thrust her thigh in between his, a Tango move, but now she was more forceful. She wanted to feel his cock pressing on her thigh.

Roger was already excited. His penis had begun to stiffen during the cab ride, feeling Olympe’s passion signalled by her clasping hand and her breathy sighs. He responded enthusiastically to her kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and wrestling with hers, exchanging saliva. He pulled her skirt up to frot his prick on her bare thigh, but it was painfully constrained in his trousers. He pulled away from her to begin undressing.

She helped pull his jacket off and threw it onto a chair, then started to unbutton his waistcoat. Meanwhile he fumbled at his trousers, undoing his belt so he could get the waistband open and drop them. They fell to his ankles but were trapped onto his feet by his shoes. Olympe had got his waistcoat open and pushed it off his shoulders, sliding it down his arms to drop on the floor. 

They were both breathing heavily. Olympe was still trying to keep their mouths in contact, at the same time as undressing him. He fumbled for the zip on the back of her dress and began to slide it down, trying simultaneously to get rid of his trousers but instead he stumbled, and flopped onto the sofa, pulling her with him. She landed on top, her dress half-undone at the back, riding up her thighs, and she straddled his crotch, where his erection had found a way out of his boxer short flies and was at full mast. She reached under herself to pull her panties to one side of her wet vulva, and guided his strong cock inside of her. In her passion she had forgotten the need for a condom.

Olympe sighed, and lowered herself slowly down his length, leaning forwards with her hands on his shoulders to pin him down. She clamped her mouth to his, invading it with her tongue.

Roger was surprised by this sudden attack. He felt rather helpless in the face of her desire. Her weight on him and the difficulty of moving his legs meant she was in charge. It was a good feeling. His prick disappeared slowly inside Olympe, who was already wet. He realised they had not got a condom ready. He tried to remind her,but she was kissing him so fiercely that he could not form the words. He got his hands onto her shoulders and pushed her torso back up, to allow him to speak.

“Olympe, wait! We need a condom.”

“In a minute. It feels too good. I’ve got to move and feel it inside me.”

She began to ride him, alternating a series of vertical strokes with horizontal grinding of her hips, to press her sensitive clit to his pubic bone. He gave in, and allowed her to do what she desired. His hands finished the job of unzipping her dress, but the design only opened to the waist. The skirt ran all the way round so he could not get it off her. Between them they got the top half bundled down around her waist, leaving her in her slip and backless bra. Roger wanted to attack her nipples, but the material of the bra was restraining them. He could not get at the bra until her slip was off, so he pushed its spaghetti straps down her shoulders and tried to get it down around her waist.

Meanwhile Olympe was moving on his prick, moaning as she felt its hot length plunge into her depths. Roger got very excited. He was worried he would come soon, and did not want to climax inside her, or rather, he relished that idea at the same time he feared it, for the danger of pregnancy. His rational mind won, and he used his male strength to hold her hips as still as possible. But she could still move, because her core and thigh muscles were stronger than his arms. 

However Olympe too began to recover her senses. Her fierce animal desires, which had been aroused by their Tango and fanned by the enhanced pause in the taxicab, began to ebb enough for her to realise that raw sex was a mistake, however great it felt. She sighed, sat up straight, and lifted her hips off Roger. His wet prick felt the cold air as she got off him and stood in her raddled costume of dress and slip gathered around her waist, the strapless bra glued to her breasts, and her high heels. Her fascinator wobbled in time with her heaving breaths.

“Sorry, Roger. That was unfair of me. I got a bit carried away. Let’s take the time to get properly undressed, and we’ll begin again. Also, I want a drink. What can you offer me?”


	3. Blowjob and Negroni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger is annoyed because Olympe first controlled him and then stopped him from coming. 
> 
> He thinks of a way to put her in her place, and spanks her. 
> 
> After this mild punishment she treats him to a blowjob.

Roger got off the sofa and removed his shoes, then stripped off his trousers, which left him in a half-buttoned shirt, boxer shorts which were damp with Olympe’s juices, socks and a cravat. He thought it wasn’t a stylish look, though getting into this state had been rather good fun. He felt a bit miffed, actually. He had expected to be the dominant partner in tonight’s fun, but it was Olympe who got the upper hand straight away. He started to tidy up his suit as a way of gaining time. Olympe once again was proving to be rather a handful, and he needed to think what to do with her.

Meanwhile she was wriggling out of her flapper dress and slip. She folded them neatly and laid them over the back of a chair. Olympe never bought cheap clothes, so she wanted to take proper care of them. 

She stood in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a black fascinator, heavy gold earrings, a pearl necklace, a black, adhesive bra, long black silk gloves, black Brazilian panties, and black dancing sandals. It was quite the look, some kind of insanely sexy panda. She began dancing to something inside her head, waving her red feather boa. 

“Would you like some music?” he asked her. He didn’t wait for her to reply. He switched on his entertainment system and selected a jazz music playlist. “I’ll bring you a Martini,” He hung up his suit and changed to a dressing gown, then went to the kitchen and started to mix a Martini. Olympe came in, still wearing the same getup.

“I’ve been a bad girl, haven’t I, Roger?” she said, leaning with her elbows on the counter.

He didn’t know whether to agree or contradict her. Instead he poured her an arctic cold Martini. She took it and sipped the frosty fluid, laden with spicules of ice from how he had shaken it up.

“Ooh, that’s good!” she exclaimed. She downed the whole drink, and began again to dance to the smooth beats of the jazz.

_*What am I to do with her?*_

Roger thought the evening had got off to a great start with the tea dance, and the interrupted sex earlier had been rather exciting, though ill-advised without a condom. Now Olympe seemed to have gone off at some weird tangent of her own. He wondered how to refocus things. He was feeling very horny, and his prick was still at half-mast under his dressing gown.

“Olympe!” he said sternly. “You’re very naughty. Go and sit quietly on the sofa and wait for me.”

To his surprise she did so, looking very demure except for her extremely sexy costume. He drank a small Martini and waited a couple of minutes, to make her sweat. When he went in she was sitting on the sofa as directed, swaying from side to side in time to the music. He sat next to her.

“You’ve been very naughty, Olympe, so I have to punish you. Bend over my knee. Right now! I must give you a spanking, you bad girl.”

She did so with a grin, offering her barely covered buttocks to his hand. He began to spank her pretty smartly, alternating between her cheeks. He gave 12 strokes in all, and told her to resume her seat and sit properly. The music played on.

Olympe was in a submissive mood. She accepted Roger’s admonishment, and relished the light spanking which followed. Her bottom glowed when he was finished and she was sitting on the sofa next to him. It was hard to sit still, feeling the heat spreading across her butt-cheeks. She turned to him.

“Roger, I am sorry for being so naughty. I accept my punishment. Do you forgive me?”

“You’re forgiven, Olympe, but you must take care not to behave so ill in future.”

“I will be a good girl, Roger. I will be very good to you…” She knelt on the sofa at right angles beside him, reached a hand into his dressing gown, and took a firm hold of his half-erect cock. She began to stroke it slowly. It quickly got to full erection, poking from the fabric. She shoved the skirts of his gown off from his thighs, and leant down to take him in her mouth.

Olympe enjoyed giving head, which helped her be good at it. She sealed her lips around Roger’s glans, gave it a good tongue lashing to wet it, then pulled on the skin of his shaft until his foreskin was fully retracted. Now she could feel the direct heat of his desire throbbing in her mouth, and it made her saliva flow. She thoroughly wetted the tip of his cock, and let some spit escape the corners of her mouth to drool down his length and improve the sensation of her slow, firm strokes. She never spat on cocks like you see actresses do in pornos, because she thought it was unladylike. 

Now she began to inch her lips down his shaft, trying to deep throat him. After their earlier tryst, Olympe had bought herself a flexible dildo to practice with, and was hopeful that she would be able to accommodate the whole of Roger’s six happy inches. But the angle was bad. The upward curve of his shaft was pushing his cock head into her back teeth. It wasn’t very gag-making, but she knew it wouldn’t feel good to him, so she stopped. Instead she began a slow bobbing motion over the first two to three inches, accompanied by counter strokes of the rest of his shaft with her right hand, sucking him hard on the upward movement of her head. He groaned in pleasure, and caressed her bare back. He wanted to play with her breasts, but she was still wearing the stick-on bra. The feather fascinator still pinned to her hair, waved to the motion of her head.

Olympe’s right hand got tired from wanking Roger, so she swapped to her left, and fondled his balls with her right. They were drawn up tight. He was panting, and moaning occasionally. She knew he must be nearing his orgasm. She had to decide whether to make him come now, or frustrate him to enable him to achieve a bigger orgasm later. She decided to make him wait. Olympe desired plenty of hot cum, and knew from experience that a boy would produce more secretions if his orgasm was postponed. 

As Roger’s moans reached a peak she sat up, leaving his deeply flushed cock sad and lonely, bobbing slightly in time with his pulse. He made a grunt of frustration, and put his hand on her head to push it back down, but she grabbed his prick in her right hand again, and began to jerk it slowly, with full, long strokes, about one stroke per second. He stopped pushing her head, enjoying this firm masturbation. After a dozen strokes she suddenly gave 10 very rapid ones in a couple of seconds, then went back to the slow rhythm. Although her saliva was drying on his prick, sticky pre-cum was oozing from the eye of his cock, and helped lubricate her hand action.

_*Dammit, I’ve probably ruined my silk glove.*_

She kept an eye on Roger’s face while she continued this frustrating jerk-off action, wanting to assess how near he was to coming by his expression, moans and panting breaths. When she thought he was nearly at the edge, she stopped, and looked at him with a big smile.

“Mon Dieu, Olympe!” He was breathing heavily. He wanted so much to come, but she obviously wasn’t going to get him there. He could have wanked himself off, but it seemed rude and worse, he knew that Olympe liked to control her partner’s orgasms. She would probably get angry if he did it. So he lay limp on the sofa until he began to calm down.

In the meanwhile, Olympe stood up and stripped off her soiled gloves. She inspected the damp spotting, wondering if dry cleaning would get rid of it completely. “Oh well,” she said, rolled both gloves into a ball and chucked it into a corner.

“I’m going for a drink, Roger, do you want something?” He shook his head. She stalked into the kitchen on her 3-inch heels, and he heard her go into the freezer for ice. The sounds of filling and vigorous shaking of the cocktail maker followed. A minute later she came out, a Margarita glass in her hand. It was full of a pink, fizzy liquid which sparkled with shards of ice.

He asked her what the cocktail was.

“It’s a Negroni; Gin, Campari and red vermouth in equal measures. It’s not best practice, but I like to shake my Negronis until they practically fizz.” She took a deep sip, smiled, and took another.

“Ah!” she exclaimed. “The Negroni is a classic _aperitif_. You’re French, you know that that means.”

“Yes, it is to stimulate the appetite.”

She nodded, winked, and took another big sip. She went to hold the glass to his lips. He took a sip. It was ice-cold, very refreshing, with the characteristic bitter-sweet flavour of the mixers overlaid with the piney juniper of the gin.

Olympe drained the glass and sighed with satisfaction. It was a lot of alcohol, even though she was a tall girl. But she liked to be somewhat drunk during sex, It released her inhibitions, and gave her wild ideas. She was beginning to get some now.


	4. The Sixty-Nine Position

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger begins to worship Olympe's cunt from a submissive kneeling position, but it's a bit uncomfortable for both of them. They switch to him lying on hs back, and Olympe sitting on his face.  
> 
> 
> After a while Olympe wants to change to the 69 position, and lets Roger come like that. She changes back and comes all over his face.  
>  They clean up and start to have coffee and chocolates to refresh themselves.

Olympe was still dressed in her adhesive bra, black panties and dancing sandals, plus the ridiculous feather fascinator. She decided it was time to allow Roger the privilege of slowly removing these items in the order she decided, together with proper attention to the anatomy revealed. 

She thought it would be very sexy to have him kneel before her, peel off her panties and give her vulva the full benefit of his mouth. Or would it be better to have him take off her bra first, and lavish hot kisses on her nipples? She couldn’t make her mind up. 

Roger took the initiative, though. She looked so sexy, standing tall in front of him in her high heels that he wanted to worship at the altar of her yoni. He knelt down of his own accord, reached for her hips and nudged her to step closer to him. He began to peel down her Brazilian panties.

Ooh!” moaned Olympe. Her idea was coming true by itself. The decision having been made for her, she relaxed while Roger got into position for cunt worship. She stepped out of her panties, and he threw them across the room. She looked down to watch Roger press his wide-open mouth to her vulva. He sucked gently, then used his tongue to rim around her inner lips. Olympe found the pose incredibly sexy. She realised why boys got so excited when she knelt to give them head. As Roger continued his kissing and licking, she put her hands to his head to guide him to the places that felt the best. His eyes looked up at her submissively.

Between his saliva and her own juices, Olympe was becoming very wet. The musky fluid smeared across Roger’s lips and chin as he gave her head. He began to focus his attack on the vestibule of her vulva, licking at the tiny opening of her urethra, around the rim of her vagina, down her perineum towards her anus. It was a difficult and uncomfortable pose. She stood on tiptoe to give him better access, but even with her well-toned muscles, it was clear they could not keep it up for long. 

“Wait, Roger, lie down on the floor and I’ll straddle you.” He did so, and she knelt over his head, in a position to allow him full access to her pudenda. She leant forwards to get support from her arms. He put a hand between her legs and ruffled her pubic hair gently, then spread her lips with his other hand, and began to lick her slowly. She moaned, relishing her dominance, and pushed her hips onto his face. He thrust his tongue into her cunt like a tiny prick, and she frigged herself on it.

Olympe began to build towards her orgasm, but she wanted to prolong her enjoyment, and give pleasure to her lover in equal measure. Besides, she wanted to drink his cum. When she was on the brink she deliberately refused his lips, pushing his head away and standing up. Before he could begin to move she faced about and knelt down again in the classic 69 position, so she could suck his cock at the same time he tongued her cunt.

Roger’s prick was raging with need. He had become hugely excited from his worship of Olympe’s vulva, and only wanted to continue. When he felt his prick engulfed in her warm mouth, he began to lick, suck and drill her cunt enthusiastically with his tongue, lapping up the juices which oozed from her. He couldn’t see, only feel and imagine what Olympe was doing to his cock. 

Her lips wrapped around the head, and inched downwards slowly, the heat and wet of her mouth engulfing the shaft until he felt the tightness of her throat on his glans. Thanks to her angle of attack, and her diligent practice with her new dildo, she was able to deepthroat him. She whined in pleasure and the vibration was transmitted to his penis. As she gulped, he felt the muscles of her throat clutching at his glans. The sensation was so exquisite that he began to orgasm. 

When Olympe felt the first jet of ejaculate, she pulled his cock out of her throat, but kept the head in her mouth, and rapidly jerked the shaft with her hand. She received three more good heavy spurts of cum on her tongue, and savoured the delightful flavour. She plunged her head down again, writhing her tongue around the shaft, coating it with semen. She sucked and licked hard to get all the precious juice off him, and swallowed it with glee. She gave a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“That was great!” she exclaimed.

Drowning in the pleasure of his climax, Roger had stopped kissing her vulva. Now Olympe wanted her own orgasm. While he lay limp, she dismounted from him and reversed her position again.

“My turn now, Roger. I’m going to ride your face until you make me come all over it.” 

She lowered her dripping crotch onto his mouth. Obediently he lapped around her inner lips, then, as she began to moan he zeroed in on her rigid clit, standing proud of its hood, latching on and sucking deeply. He squeezed her buttocks in his hands, and moved a hand to her cunt. Wetting his thumb, he put it to the hot pucker of her anus, rimming the rosebud with her own juices, and began to probe gently. She groaned.

“Yes! Right there!”

He pushed his thumb in up to the first joint, and rotated it, to stimulate the sensitive nerves. He hooked two fingers into her cunt, pressing them gently against the thumb in her asshole, and fucked her in both holes. He flicked his tongue over the tip of her clit as rapidly as he could.

Olympe gave voice to her building pleasure: “Oh, yes! Oh yes! More! OH YESSSSS!”

She came with a moan. Clutching his head with both hands, she flooded his face with her cream. He kept licking her as her orgasm went on until, exhausted, she rolled off him to lie on her back in a spreading pool of her juices. Roger was glad he had bare wooden floors. It would have been difficult to clean a rug or carpet of the mess they were making. 

Olympe lay still, waiting while her breathing returned to normal. At some point in her writhing, her fascinator had unclipped from her hair. When she recovered enough, she grabbed it and with a hoot, slung it across the room like some kind of feathery spear. It caught on a lampshade.

“I’m so glad we met, Roger. You’re such fun!” She smiled at him, and reached out to take his hand. She rolled over towards him, gave him a gentle kiss, and licked his lips to taste her cum which had flooded his mouth and face. “I taste nice, don’t I?”

He nodded. Gradually his cock deflated. It would be a while before he could get another erection. Time for a bit of cleaning up. 

“Olympe, dear, would you like a shower?”

“No. I want you to have the pleasure of taking this bra off me. I need the bathroom, though.” 

He pointed at the door, and she went to wash and have a wee. He heard the toilet flushing, the bidet in use, then the hand basin taps. Roger just lay on the floor. He didn’t want to move and possibly spread the mess until he could go straight into the bathroom. However, without the excitement of sex, he began to feel cold. He got up and washed his hands in the kitchen sink. He put his dressing gown on, using the sleeves to wipe his face, and the skirt to dry his penis. He got a damp cloth to clean the wooden floor where they had enjoyed each other so thoroughly. There were several spots and drips of assorted bodily fluids. The sofa, fortunately, was not damp.

Olympe came out of the bathroom, wearing nothing more than her jewelry, adhesive bra, and her sandals. 

“I’m cold, may I borrow something to wear, Roger?”

He fetched her a spare dressing gown, which was rather large for her, and turned on the heating in the flat.

“I will make coffee, and bring out the chocolates I promised you,” he offered. She sat on the sofa with a smile, while Roger went to the kitchen and set up the coffee machine. While that was percolating, he threw his soiled dressing gown into the laundry basket, had a quick wash, and got a Japanese yukata to wear. The fabric was thin, but the flat was already warming up so he did not feel cold.

He put a small side table in front of the sofa and brought a tray full of coffee things, and a luxurious looking box of chocolates.

“Those look very nice, Roger. Did you buy them specially for tonight?”

“Yes. I hope we can think of something interesting to do with them.” He began to pour the coffee.

“For a start, let’s see what’s in the assortment. May I?” Olympe took his nod for a yes, and opened the box to get the card which explained the various types of chocolates inside. It was a typical selection of milk and dark chocolates in various shapes and flavours.

The interesting thing about chocolate is that it melts at human body temperature. This is why it is so sensual to hold in the mouth. It gradually liquifies into a thick, palate-coating layer, compelling the tongue to slow exploration of the rich flavour and sweetness. This process can be sped up or slowed down by drinking hot or cold drinks. 

If you put a piece of chocolate on someone’s skin, it will melt from their body heat. That is why small children get so messy, and it’s what makes chocolate a fun sexual plaything.

Olympe had researched the idea of putting chocolates into her pussy and letting them melt. It sounded great, but it was advised against because it was difficult to clean yourself afterwards, and the sugars and fat in the sticky residue were liable to upset the natural balance of bacteria in a healthy vagina. However, she thought she could lie on her back, set chocolates on her breasts and pubic mound, and let them gradually melt, then Roger could eat them off her with a lot of sucking and licking. Or she could lie on her front, and let him eat chocolates from between her butt cheeks. That also sounded rather sensual. Maybe he would even eat a chocolate out of her asshole. She was nice and clean after the bidet.

And of course, she could do the same sort of thing to Roger. She passed him the assortment card, and accepted a cup of black coffee with a smile.


	5. Coffee and Chocolates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Olympe relax and enjoy coffee and chocolates.
> 
> They play sensually with the sweets, indulging in deep, passionate kisses, until Olympe wants to drink another cocktail.
> 
> While Roger goes to fix the drinks, she gets ready for another kind of fun.

Roger scanned the assortment card. He sipped coffee and looked at the actual chocolates. They were edible works of artisanal art, rectangular blocks of truffle or ganache, enrobed in a hard, milk or dark chocolate shell, with intricately patterned upper surfaces, some embossed, others coloured with food dye crafted into geometric or flowing abstract or flower designs. The flavours were exotic: raspberry and black pepper, garden mint, lime and chili, sea salt and caramel, orange and clove, and more; liquorice, honey, passionfruit, ginger...

It seemed almost vandalism to eat them, but he chose one and slowly offered it to Olympe’s mouth. She looked at him keenly, extended her tongue and allowed him to slide the sweet morsel onto it and past her teeth. The tips of his fingers brushed her lips and tongue as he released the tidbit.

Olympe closed her mouth and let the chocolate melt slowly. The sweetness energised her as the sensual melting texture coated her tongue. She fully understood why chocolate had once been thought an aphrodisiac. As soon as that first piece was finished, she wanted another. She looked Roger in the eye, and opened her mouth to be fed again. Three pieces she took, sipping coffee in between to cleanse her palate. Then she wanted to return the favour.

“These are the best chocolates I have ever tasted, Roger. They are so, so delicious, so sensual that it’s making me wet.”

To tell the truth, something about the scene, the gentle feeding and the aphrodisiac quality of the superb treats, was making her nipples and clit perky. She shifted her pose on the sofa, rubbing her thighs together to bring pressure to her vulva. The heat of her earlier spanking had faded from her buttocks. She wondered whether to provoke Roger again, to enjoy that subtle pain which can generate pleasurable hormones in the brain.

“Your turn to be fed now, my darling,” she insisted, though he was already picking a fourth piece to give to her. She took it from his fingers and held it up for him to bite. 

Roger half expected her to snatch it away from his lips in a tease, but Olympe held the chocolate still and he accepted it on his tongue. She pushed it very gently as he brought his tongue back in, allowing her fingertips to enter his mouth; they were lightly pressed by his lips as he closed them. She left her fingers on his closed mouth, and brought her other hand to touch his jaw.

He held her eyes with his as he waited to feel the morsel begin to melt. His mouth was hot from the coffee, and the hard shell began to relax quickly, then the softer, flavoured inside was exposed to his taste buds. He moved his tongue and jaw to spread the spicy filling around his palate and experience all the flavours. He breathed deeply and slowly. Olympe caressed his face very gently with her fingertips, staring fixedly into his eyes. Her intense gaze, watching him experience sensual pleasure, was astonishingly sexy. He began to feel the stirring of a new erection.

He finished the truffle and took a mouthful of coffee, which emptied his cup. He refilled it, and looked to see if Olympe wanted more. She had put her cup down, and now had a chocolate held delicately between her teeth, her lips wide open to avoid touching it and melting it. She began to lean towards him. 

He quickly put down his coffee, and was ready for her as she took his head in her two warm hands. Holding him still, she pressed the chocolate to his lips. He opened his mouth, and she pushed the sweet past his lips. Her tongue followed, probing gently, and her lips sealed themselves to his. Together they experienced the melting bliss of the sweet, spicy truffle. It coated his mouth and her tongue. He wrestled with her, pushing her tongue back to her own mouth, swapping saliva and truffle cream, pushing the flavours to all the corners of her palate. Their breathing grew faster and deeper. 

Roger’s hands also were busy. He undid the sash of Olympe’s dressing gown. He tried to get the top half off her shoulders and expose her breasts, but it was not possible so long as she was holding his head and ravaging his mouth with her hot chocolate kiss. She would not let go, her jaws worked as if she were trying to eat him, and her tongue writhed around his, first into his mouth, then retreating to hers and inviting him to follow. Melted chocolate smeared across their cheeks. All the time she was staring intently into his eyes. He saw tears start in hers, and the kiss went on and on.

Suddenly Olympe pulled away. She swept the top half of her gown off her arms and down around her waist, exposing her pale torso with her small breasts still encased in the black adhesive bra. She grabbed another chocolate and pushed it into Roger’s mouth, then kissed him fiercely again, repeating the performance, enjoying the feeling of her passions released by sensuality. Tears dripped from the corners of her eyes, and her make-up ran, but she did not care. 

Eventually the kiss ended. Roger had become fully erect, his penis tenting the skirts of his yukata, and staining the fabric with pre-cum. Olympe was wet between her legs, and her face was dripping tears stained with her brown mascara. They ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her bare chest.

“Roger, I must go to the bathroom for a minute.” Her voice was tremulous. “Please would you make me another cocktail? A Dirty Martini would be nice.”

He wanted to jump on her right then and there, and make fierce love to her, but he understood things would be much better if he went along with her reading of the scene. She had strong sensual appetites. He had found that when she acted out her desires, the results were deeply satisfying for both of them. He went into the kitchen and put two Martini glasses in the freezer to chill them, then got the gin, vermouth and olives ready. He wiped the chocolate stains from his cheeks, then muddled some olives in a cocktail shaker and filled it with hard ice. He reached for his steel 60ml Oxo jug and began to measure out the liquid ingredients.

While Roger was assembling the Dirty Martinis, Olympe went quickly to the bathroom. She just blotted her tears, leaving streaks and runs in her make-up, and roughly washed the chocolate stains from her cheeks. It gave her a look of raw passion, a girl caught in the throes of her strong feelings, ready to express her wants and needs without reserve. She tucked a chocolate into each cup of her bra, positioning it over the nipple, and sealed the stick-on garment as firmly as possible. She took off her earrings, in case Roger might want to kiss and bite her ears. She left her pearl necklace on, and refreshed her Chanel no.5 fragrance. 

Going back into the living room, she removed her dressing gown and sandals, putting them on and next to the sofa. She went to discover Roger’s bedroom, carrying the chocolates with her. It was easy to find as there were only two in the flat, and one of them was decorated in an obvious ‘guest room’ style. Roger’s bedroom was more personal. It was neat and tidy, but it had that ‘lived in’ feeling. There was a novel on the bedside table, and a pair of cufflinks he had not put away properly. The book was in French, so she could not understand it, having lost that language in odd circumstances. Switching the light off, she got into his big cool bed, and waited to be discovered.

Roger came out of the kitchen with two full Martini glasses, to find no Olympe, though her gown and sandals were there. He set the drinks on the table and went to the bathroom, where there was a heavy perfume in the air, and two chunky gold earrings in the soapdish. The door to his bedroom was ajar, though there was no light within. He understood what she had done, returned to fetch the Martinis, and went to join her in the warm darkness of his bed, leaving the door wide open so light spilling in from the hallway would grant him some kind of view of her.

Olympe was lying on her left side in the bed, under the duvet, her knees drawn up to her chest. She was idly playing with her wet vulva with her right hand, and pressing her bra with the left, to make sure the chocolates were properly softened. She didn’t move when Roger came in, but she spoke in a whisper.

“Hello, have you brought me my cocktail?”

“Yes, Olympe, shall I put it on the table?” He set his glass down on the other side of the bed.

“No, I want to drink it now, please.” She sat up, letting the duvet fall from her shoulders and he could see her necklace and black bra. She sucked the first two fingers of her right hand, and reached for the glass. She took a mouthful.

“Aaah! That’s a good Dirty Martini, Roger. Thank you.” 

He sat on the bed, still wearing his yukata. His erection had softened while he was making their drinks, but now he could see her almost naked in his bed, it perked up again. He leaned over and got his own Martini, lifted it in a silent toast to Olympe, and took a deep sip. The briny taste from the olive juice reminded him of oysters. There was an umami quality to the drink which piqued his appetite. They hadn’t eaten a lot at the tea dance. He wanted more chocolates, and something more substantial.

Olympe drained her drink in one go, sighed, and put the glass back on the bedside table. She lay down at full length, stretched her arms above her head, and began to give little alternate vertical kicks with her feet. 

“Aren’t you horny again, Roger?” She asked. “Here I am, come and get me!” 

Roger wondered how many units of alcohol were inside her. He reckoned about four right now, given that the wine she had drunk at the dance would have processed out of her system, and the latest cocktail had not had time to enter it. She was a big girl, and seemed pretty hard-headed, but it was still a lot. He wondered if she really was in a state to give informed consent to more sex. Perhaps it would be better just to sleep now. There would be time for fun in the morning.

But Olympe had her own ideas. When Roger did not come to her, she went to him. She knelt behind him, wrapped her arms around him, pressed her breasts to his back, and began to lick his ear. 

“Roger, I want you," she hissed. "I’ve got a special treat ready for you. I promise you’ll enjoy it!”

She fumbled to undo the sash of his yukata, unable to see the knot.


End file.
